


Studs

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock could accessorize more.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 212
Collections: Star Trek





	Studs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’d be unprofessional to stretch on the bridge, but when the time comes, Jim’s arms pull taut along the armrests of the captain’s chair. His fingers splay out, neck cricking to the side, and he can see Spock in his peripherals, taking all that in. Spock stands as stiff and straight as he has for the duration of his shift, his hands calmly folded behind his back, his eyes once on the science station but now the rippling lines of Jim’s body. It’s been a long, boring shift—something he should welcome after their earlier Klingon skirmish, but Jim never welcomes _boring_.

At least he’ll find refuge in his off hours. The flicker of interest in Spock’s dark eyes at Jim’s flexing fingers doesn’t go unnoticed. Jim rises from his chair in a deliberately slow, graceful movement, knowing his first officer is paying full attention. 

He strolls around the bridge, taking note of the rest of his crew, the night shift filling in like clockwork—M’Ress slides into Uhura’s seat, and Uhura leans over the board to go through the day’s chatter. The pink diamond-like gems in Uhura’s ears catch in the overhead lighting, and Jim stops long enough to complement, “Those are nice earrings, Lieutenant.”

She shoots him a flicker of surprised appreciation. He doesn’t often notice things like that, nor does he note his underlings’ appearances, but the bridge crew is tight enough that he deems it appropriate. Besides, he can’t have them thinking Spock gets _all_ his favouritism. Uhura answers, “Thank you, Captain. They’re new; I picked them up in the Mrennenimian system during our R&R.”

“The Mrennenimian system?” His brows lift. “That can’t have been an easy find.”

Her knowing smile says it all. “I’ve never had a harder-earned piece of jewelry in my life.”

“They’re prrretty,” M’Ress throws in, and that draws Uhura’s attention back. Jim’s made his point and moves on, headed for the turbolift, unsurprised to see Spock waiting there. They step inside together, shoulder-to-shoulder, just that _little_ bit too close, but the doors have swung shut before anyone can see. 

Jim opens his mouth and almost continues the conversation by asking if Spock’s ever had the grave misfortune of trying to find anything useful in a Mrennenimian market, but then he remembers that during that particular R&R, Spock was quite incapacitated. Despite his initial insistence on spending the time aboard the Enterprise, ‘brushing up’ on the ever-expanding Federation databanks, Jim made sure his first officer had a thrilling vacation planet-side. Having been present for every exhilarating moment, he knows that goal was met. 

They didn’t, however, leave their hotel room for much, and that prompts Jim’s thoughts to spiral somewhere they certainly shouldn’t be while he’s on duty. Still in his casual captain’s drawl, he asks, “Why don’t you ever get new jewelry, Mr. Spock?”

He can see one of Spock’s dark brows arching in his peripherals. “I do not wear jewelry, Captain.”

Jim tilts his head, noting, “Well... there is the one.”

Anyone else would miss the rigid set of Spock’s jaw and the way his shoulders square. Jim knows his t’hy’la well enough to catch every poignant detail. Spock continues looking straight ahead. “That is not jewelry; it is a Vulcan custom.” He leaves off: _as you well know._

Jim hums, “Sure.”

Pulled to a silent stop, the doors whisk open. Spock steps out, and Jim follows, not breaking off where he should to reach his own quarters. Spock says nothing of it. They reach Spock’s quarters without any witnesses, though it wouldn’t be particularly unusual if they were spotted—their private chess matches have somehow become legendary.

Jim has a different game in mind tonight. As soon as Spock’s door has shut behind them, sealing them in his broiling-hot quarters, Jim turns on his first officer. He takes one step forward, crowding Spock back against the wall, and then he’s leaning in and brushing across Spock’s plush lips. He isn’t at all surprised that despite Spock’s lingering tension, he leans back just enough to connect them. The initial kiss is shallow, chaste, but enough to make Jim’s blood rush. He’s wanted this all shift. 

When he opens his mouth, Spock responds predictably—with restraint, then begrudging interest, then fervour: his tongue meets Jim’s and sucks Jim’s back, lapping around Jim’s mouth as Jim traces his teeth and walls. Jim arches his body into Spock’s flat chest, rocking his hips once into Spock’s long legs, his hands drifting to Spock’s waist. He holds on and thumbs Spock sides as he tilts his head and swallows Spock down at a new angle—the taste of Spock is addictive, just like the smell of him and the quiet noises of his hitched breath. He doesn’t _moan_ outright like Jim does, doesn’t taste of lunch’s spices or mid-shift coffee, doesn’t start to stink of sweat or carnal interest, but Jim’s in-tune with all the subtleties of _Spock_ and treasures every one. It doesn’t take long for his grinding to pay off—Spock’s body responds for his t’hy’la, just like Jim’s always does. 

The difference is that it doesn’t _undo_ Spock, not yet, anyway—he simply continues on with their practiced kisses while Jim palms around his crotch. Then Jim’s slipping under Spock’s uniform and prying his pants away from the coarse hairs above his base—Jim pushes those pants and the underwear underneath down just enough to free what he wants. 

Spock’s long shaft twitches in his hand, hot and stiff and eager. Jim moans into Spock’s mouth just from the feel of it, and he can’t help squeezing, pumping, savouring the touch even though he had a specific thought. He’s still subconsciously playing with it as he dodges Spock’s next kiss, pulling back enough to look. 

He slides up to the veiled head and swirls his thumb around the very tip, blunt fingernail tracing the sparkling Vulcan-sapphire embedded in the slit. Jim murmurs across Spock’s lips, “I think it’d be fun to see some other options...”

Spock lifts his brow but says nothing. Jim can’t imagine Spock ever buying a pseudo-sounding rod amidst an alien market, though he has no idea how the instruments are procured on Vulcan. _He_ would love to go shopping for them. He asks, “If I gave you some, would you wear them?”

Spock parts his pretty lips, but before he can answer, Jim’s kissing them again, licking to the side of his mouth and nipping down his jaw, sucking at his throat—Jim knows how to get the answer he wants. He strokes the hard cock in his hands as Spock’s breath catches, and he mutters, uncharacteristically distracted, “I... if they met Vulcan specifications, perhaps...”

Jim smiles: victory. He kisses back to Spock’s mouth and orders, “Then you’d better tell me all those intimate details, Commander, so I can order something befitting of my gorgeous t’hy’la.”

Spock quirks a brow. It looks like he’ll protest, but a firm tap on the rod’s tip cuts him off. He takes a deep breath and answers instead, “Yes, Captain.”

“Good.” 

Once, Jim would’ve gone slower from there. But he has enough practice to grasp the sapphire and slowly pull the beaded rod from Spock’s cock with ease, precision and skill—and he stares at Spock while he does it, so he can see the shivers rack Spock’s handsome figure. Jim knows the accessory is meant to hold the wearer back, but Jim quietly explains, “You won’t be needing this tonight.” He intends to make Spock come hard enough that if it stayed, it would go flying. It’s not what the Vulcan plug is for, but Spock’s half human, and the way he shudders as the last of the rod withdraws from his slit can’t be the rod’s intention. Unless Vulcans are a hornier species than most give them credit for. _Spock_ certainly is.

Spock’s also the best thing that ever happened to Jim. Carelessly slipping the dirty rod into his pocket, Jim interlocks his fingers with Spock’s, savours the spark it causes, and tugs his t’hy’la to the bed where they’ll make love.


End file.
